


cat's silhouette as big as a monster (in this concrete jungle)

by pandæmonium (curiocoyote)



Series: Souls!Verse [3]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Daemon Feels, Daemon Separation, Daemon Touching, Daemons, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 13:45:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10968453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiocoyote/pseuds/pand%C3%A6monium
Summary: It was a typical procedure for many ARGUS field agents, Waller told him. Just a simple procedure.





	cat's silhouette as big as a monster (in this concrete jungle)

**Author's Note:**

> On one of the previous works in this series, mz_valkyrie asked a very good question about how Oliver does his vigilante thing without anyone recognizing Bellona. So here's a little angsty piece explaining some of Oliver's past with Amanda Waller and ARGUS as well as how he protects his and Bellona's identities- separation. 
> 
> Separation is a dangerous and painful occurrence that is usually the result of an accident due to too much distance between a human and their daemon, and can lead to serious damage to the human-daemon bond as well as the mind. Separation leads to the human and daemon being able to travel independently of each other, whereas normally humans and daemons must stay together within a small range of distance in order to avoid discomfort and even pain. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a typical procedure for many ARGUS field agents, Waller told him. Just a simple procedure. 

Procedure. The word was clinical, detached, straightforward. It made it seem as through it was as everyday as pulling a tooth or removing tonsils. 

It was true that the procedure itself was simple enough. Strap the field agent in question down in a locked room, shove their daemon in a large and strong enough cage, and inject them both with muscle relaxants so neither can seriously hurt themselves or someone else. Then you simply increase the distance between them until the bond between the has become stretched and malleable, like pulling taffy. Simple. 

Oliver didn't really have a choice. He didn't have a choice to work for ARGUS, and it was just another consequence of his situation that he and Bellona would have to be separated. It would be useful, convenient, to be able to distance themselves from each other at will. He could stay anonymous without such a noticeable daemon by his side, and they could act independently, cover more ground. Logically, it was an inarguable decision. 

So Oliver let himself be strapped down to a cold metal table and Bellona let herself be locked into a cage with bars as thick as his wrists, even though his heart was racing the entire time and a low growl rumbled in her chest. They were drugged, haziness clouding some of the panic, and then Bellona was slowly pulled out of the room on a rolling cart, the door locking behind her. At first there was just a dull ache, a slight discomfort. 

The ache began to suddenly sharpen and intensify as their bond stretched past the bounds it was meant to be confined to, pain stabbing him deep in his chest and gut. Oliver groaned, his muscles tensing as much as they could with the drugs in his veins. 

He could feel every one of the next few steps of the men who carried Bellona further away from him, because every step sent a jolt of pain through his body and soul. He writhed on the table, unable to move more than an inch or two, restraints cutting into his wrists, shoulders, chest, legs, ankles. 

Oliver didn't know how much longer it had been when he started to scream. The pain was worse than anything he'd suffered on the island, something far deeper and more wrenching than arrows or swords or any bleeding flesh wound. It felt like he was being ripped in half, like his heart was being clenched in a fist determined to squeeze until the organ burst. It felt like he was dying, or at least part of him was. 

After what could have been seconds or hours, the pain began to lessen. It was a slow process, Oliver's screams dying to whimpers finally to silence as his chest heaved. The pain wasn't gone, exactly. There was something still... off, something wrong, like the gap where a missing tooth should be where a tongue probes the raw gums again and again, searching for something no longer present. His chest felt hollow. 

Oliver rolled his head to face the blank, cold steel door that they'd taken Bellona through. Surely they'd bring her back now that... now that... now that...

His brain refused to complete the circuit, to fill in the awful word that he'd heard people whisper about all his life, fear and some brand of sick fascination in their voices as they unconsciously clutched their daemons tighter. 

Finally, finally, the door swung open, and the ARGUS agents who'd taken Bellona away brought her back in, still locked in a cold metal cage. She was a huddled mass of black fur slumped in the corner of the cage, but when she entered the room she stirred and lifted her head slowly. When she saw Oliver, her half-closed eyes brightened, and she struggled to her paws, pressing her body to the front of her cage in a desperate attempt to get closer to him. Oliver sobbed in relief, straining against the restraints towards her, his hands twitching uselessly at his sides. 

Two of the agents, their faces carefully dispassionate and their daemons nowhere to be seen, unlocked his restraints while the third, being sure to stand well away from the door, unlocked Bellona's cage. 

As soon as he was freed, Oliver swung his legs over the side of the table and dropped down. He swayed, his head swimming, and decided that the best course of action would be to sit down before his knees gave out. 

Bellona crawled into his lap, pressing her head and shoulders against his body, trying to tuck her entire bulk as close to him as possible. He hugged her tightly to his chest, running his shaking hands over her sleek fur and pressing his face to the top of her head, his tears dampening her black fur. 

\---

Oliver drops from the rattling fire escape to land on the concrete floor of the deep alleyway, immediately chasing after the fleeing drug dealer, the familiar rhythm of the chase clearing his mind as his pounding feet eat up the ground between him and the target- the man. Not target, person. He'd told himself he'd stop using the terms that ARGUS had drilled into his mind years earlier after he realized that they freaked Felicity out. 

He swings his bow up in a practiced arc, a movement as familiar to him as breathing, one of his "fancy arrows" (as Felicity liked to call them) already nocked in place. Seconds later, a weighted length of cord has wrapped around the man's ankles and neatly brings him crashing to the ground. He manages to roll over before Oliver reaches him, giving him the perfect target. He fists the man's shirt in his gloved hand, bodily hauling him to his feet with little effort and slamming him against the nearest brick wall. There's a small metal case at his belt that his hands unconsciously hover over protectively- he must have a small daemon, then, probably an insect, fragile enough to warrant this protective casing while the man is out and about on his illegal jaunts, selling designer drugs for a new player in town. 

There's the familiar moment when the man's eyes dart around- first to his feet, then up to his waist and shoulders, and then to the sky just above them and the alley around them. There's also the familiar moment when he realizes that there is no daemon in sight and a primal fear of the incomplete and unnatural fills his eyes. 

After that and a few well-chosen threats, it's almost laughably easy to get the dealer to tell him the name and frequent haunts of the new druglord roaming his city, and Oliver drops him on the ground without a second thought while taking out his burner phone to call Quentin Lance to call in an arrest. 

Not for the first time, the thought of the detective makes him grateful for the fact that, because they are separated, Bellona can either stay out of sight or in the shadows enough so that no one knows that the vigilante's daemon is a rather distinctive black jaguar. Lance would have a heart attack if he ever found such an obvious connection between Oliver and the hooded archer. 

When he climbs back to the rooftops, pulling himself up along a fire escape, Bellona is waiting for him, her dark fur blending into the night and her eyes reflecting the pale moonlight. She purrs softly when she sees him and he drops into a crouch, stripping off his gloves so he can run his hands through her fur. Almost unconsciously, out of years of habit, he feels for the bond between them. It's still there, solid and comforting, even if it is stretched and scarred from years past.


End file.
